


Fire Whirl

by ColorfulDolce



Series: Flicker in the Night [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Desolation!Tim, Distortion!Sasha, F/M, M/M, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, background jonmartin, lots of flesh burning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21846148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulDolce/pseuds/ColorfulDolce
Summary: Things go awry, and it's all Jon's fault.Or at least, they will. Maybe it's inevitable, but they're willing to bet against those odds.--A sudden dread shot up their spines. It rattled around their skulls until they were dizzy with it, shook them to their core as it snaked back down before it settled in their stomachs. It was watching them.
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Series: Flicker in the Night [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573888
Comments: 16
Kudos: 50





	1. You Won't Hurt Me (But What if I Do?)

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH OK YEAH I HAVEN'T STOPPED THINKING ABOUT THIS SO HERE HAVE SOME MORE  
> Honestly I'm still not 100% sure about the plot but i'm 100% sure I wanna write more Tim/Sasha so here u go back @ it w my distortin/desolation au

As it turned out, no. Tim didn’t turn to wax when submerged in water.

Nope.

What happened was: he immediately brought the surrounding water to a boil and Sasha was left with some pretty severe burns for the next few days. Guess Helen wasn’t up for it this time.

“Tim, really, it’s alright. Look, I’m all better now, see?”

Tim didn’t see. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to look at the once-angry flesh that bubbled and burst because of  _ him _ . He would have never agreed to go kayaking again if he had known--

“Tim.”

But really. What did he expect? He was part of the Desolation now, destined to scorch everything he touched. He remembered Jack Barnabas’ statement. Whether Agnes truly loved him or not, the fact still stays: her kiss disfigured him beyond recognition. If he were to do that to Sasha--

Tim hissed and leapt away. Wax slowly trickled down his cheek in a thin line. He turned and saw Sasha’s hand. Her hands were still bandaged. A drop of wax had solidified on her jutting finger tip. His eyes slowly traveled down her bandaged hand, up her bandaged arm, past the scarf which covered her neck, and finally to her lightly scarred face which was down turned with worry.

“Sorry, but you were getting into your own head.”

...He sighed.

“Sorry, sorry. I was just…”

“Brooding?”

He scoffed, “No, not brooding...just...thinking. Maybe this isn’t going to--”

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Sasha repeated, crossing her arms now, “No, I’m not going to let you think like that.”

“But Sash, I--”

This time, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. Even with a body as malleable as his, he still felt the sharp pain of her fingers slicing through his skin, and if Sasha’s slight trembling was anything to go by, she still felt the pain of boiling wax oozing onto hers.

“You can hurt me Tim, but look, I can hurt you too. There’s no getting around this. We said yes, we sold our deaths to beings that quite literally live to terrorize us, just to have another chance at finishing what we wanted. At seeing each other again. But,” she finally let go of him and they both look a shaking breath, “But we...we choose not to. We both sacrifice a bit so that we don’t hurt each other. I’m sorry I made you go in the water, and I’m sure you’re sorry I fell in with you. It wasn’t on purpose. Besides, we heal quickly enough.”

Tim held his wrist, watched as the skin slowly started to seal back up. He looked towards Sasha who, honestly, looked a lot better than most people who suffered third degree burns even years after the fact. He sighed.

“Not quite the healthiest couple,” he grumbled.

“Honestly, Tim, I’m pretty sure we gave that up when we became avatars, or whatever it is Jon called it.”

Sasha reached out, let herself fall a little deeper into the Spiral, just to gently stroke Tim’s hair as she so often did. No physical touch, only lovingly warped perception. Tim craned his head into it, chased it, and both loved and hated that they had this.

“Speaking of Jon, I heard the institute’s been having some mighty craic right as of late.”

“Oh? Really?” Tim replied, doing his best to sound as disinterested as possible. And disappointed. There goes the mood.  ‘ _ Thanks a lot, Jon _ ,’ he thought.

Sasha merely nodded and continued as she willfully ignored his tone.

“Yup. Apparently, Martin is throwing himself into the Lonely, poor thing. I always thought he would be more Web.”

“I always thought he would be more, oh I don’t know. Not spooky? Don’t know how I feel about you placing bets on our old coworkers, Sash,” he said, moving to sit on their tattered couch. If he was going to listen to all of this, he might as well get comfortable.

She waved her hand flippantly, “Well, anyways. Looks like we might need to start saying ‘good morning’ to the London fog from now on. Besides that, Jon’s gone and lost his ribs.”

Tim shot up.

“ _ What?! _ I--How--His  _ ribs _ ?”

Sasha nodded and made her way over as well. She sat on the arm of the couch, pleased smile on her face now that she had Tim’s full attention.

“Apparently, he traded two of them to Hopworth. One for a statement--”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, he’d go that far--”

“--And the  _ other _ ,” she continued, raising her voice just a tad, “For himself. To ‘anchor himself’ when he entered  _ The Buried _ .”

Tim shut up. He looked at Sasha, shock evident on his face.

“No joke.”

She shook her head.

“The  _ Buried? _ ”

She nodded her head.

“Spooky dirt coffin, yeah?”

She nodded once more.

“For  _ what _ ?”

“To save the huntress, apparently.”

Tim let out a low whistle.

“...Well goddamn.”

“Mhmm.”

“He wouldn’t do that for any of us.”

He winced as he felt the whisper of a smack against his arm. Sasha scowled at him.

“Oh don’t you go saying that again. Jon wasn’t the best to us but he wasn’t  _ bad _ . He tried his best to help us, and he did good by Martin when Jane Prentiss attacked. That’s more than I can say about either of us. He tried to take down the Not Them for me. He tried to stop you from going and blowing yourself to smithereens. The least you could do is at least acknowledge that!”

“Yeah, well, maybe that wasn’t enough!” Tim was scowling now, too, “Maybe he tried but that doesn’t mean a thing if nothing came of it! You were still replaced, I still didn’t notice, Danny is still  _ gone _ and we’re now stuck like--”

They both froze.

Outside, cars drove by. The trees gently swayed in the autumn wind. The Thames flowed smoothly as it always had. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Something was wrong.

“Tim…”

Something had  _ happened _ .

“Sash...do you--”

A sudden dread shot up their spines. It rattled around their skulls until they were dizzy with it, shook them to their core as it snaked back down before it settled in their stomachs. It was watching them.

The front door, with its fresh coat of paint, swung open. Helen stepped out. Sasha rose to her feet.

“Helen, what’s going--”

“Well, Jon’s gone and done it again,” Helen said, cutting Sasha off.

“Oh great. What’s he done this time?”

“Oh, you know. Just gone and utterly vaporized a Lukas. Martin’s back, by the way. They’ve run off to the countryside,” she explained as she moved towards Sasha. A grin split across Helen’s face. She laughed.

“It’s all, ah, very romantic, isn’t it?”

“Wait, you’re telling me that Jon's  _ killed _ an avatar?”

Helen nodded at Tim, and grabbed Sasha’s hand. Tim immediately stood up and began to place himself between them.

“Hang on, why are you--”

“It’s all been so much fun down there, ha. Jon’s gone after Martin, Daisy and Basira are fighting those other two hunters,” her attention never left her avatar, “And Sasha, lovely girl, there’s an old friend I think you’d like to have a word with running amok in the archives.”

At that, Sasha’s eyes narrowed, and her lips pulled up into an ugly snarl. Tim hesitated.

“Oh, I know. Fun, isn’t it? Well, I won’t hold you up. If you will excuse us Mr. Tim.”

And with that, Helen not so much pulled as she  _ was _ pulled through her door by Sasha, whose hair by this point had come loose from her bun and was spilling down onto the floor like oil.

The door closed, and Tim was left standing there, staring at the peeling paint on the old wood.

For the first time in months, he was alone.


	2. You Don't Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha confronts an old enemy.
> 
> \--  
> She leapt, dug her fingers into its side, relished in its cries of pain. 
> 
> Good.
> 
> This is no less than what it deserves, for what it did to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> russian roulette on why it took me like three months to write this:  
> got distracted by knitting  
> got distracted by forensic files  
> got distracted by a webtoons comic contest  
> got distracted by being considered an essential worker and going through five holidays even though all we do is sell gourmet pastries

Spirals.

Fractals.

Lies and deceptions.

These were Sasha’s world, now. Her home. They came as naturally to her as breathing came to those still living. Perhaps she wasn’t as lost as some others--Micheal, for example, or Prentiss--but that did not make her better than them, no. Not when the desire to twist and warp and speak in circles tugged at her mind endlessly.

It was easier, with Tim around. There is a certain...deception, to fire. It is as much there as it is not: it is energy, devoid of any and all matter. No matter, it still burns as real as anything. It flickers in spirals, warps the air around it. It brings death, destruction,  _ desolation… _

Light. Warmth.  _ Life _ .

A forest fire that rages, an extinction event. Desolation that brings forth a new niche for life to fulfill. Even virtually, it is nigh impossible to truly destroy something. Nothing is ever destroyed: that is the law of this world. That is the lie in destruction.

Those are the lies Sasha tells Tim when he rants about the circus, about the Stranger and Orsinov. That fire will destroy them completely. That “I Do Not Know You” is enemies with “The Lightless Flame.” She tells these lies, these comforting white lies, and they feed her hunger, they keep her from wanting to cause more harm. For nothing can ever be truly destroyed, she thinks. Nothing, she fears, except for love.

Sasha thinks about this as she walks through the door, Helen giddy behind her, Tim far, far away. She is not so blinded by rage that she gets tunnel vision. She knows she is hurting Tim by doing this, going back to the institute without him. She understands that were the situation reversed, Tim would have run into the circus, wax bubbling and boiling over until it melted everything in his way. But Sasha is used to this, used to the role of a woman in academia. She is used to playing nice, and patient, and humbling herself in order to steady the boat. She is used to it, and she hates it. She is Sasha James, Avatar of the Spiral, and her vengeance writhes on the floor like her oil slick hair. She will stay herself no longer. 

Sasha knows this hurts Tim, but she knows Tim will forgive her, eventually. This  _ is _ the Not Them they are talking about, one of the Stranger’s agents. If anything Tim should forgive  _ and _ celebrate this! She is doing him a favor. She is not going to stand by the side. She is not destroying their love. She will be forgiven.

She is thinking in circles, again, and must shake her head to clear her thoughts. 

“I see you.”

Three familiar words, and suddenly her mind is cleared. The iridescent oil gives way to crystal water and Sasha breathes, smiles. It doesn’t see her, she knows this, because she is not who it thinks she is. The Not Them remembers a Sasha that no longer exists. Its Sasha is a lie.

And Sasha loves lies.

“I would hurry if I were you, Sasha,” Helen calls out from an open, “I can only fend off the hunters for so long, and the huntress is making an absolute  _ mess _ in the corridors.”

“Oh just give me a moment, I’m enjoying an internal monologue. You  _ know _ I don’t get to enjoy these very often--oh!”

Sasha quickly jumps out of the way as the Not Them lunges at her. She cannot control the doors as Helen can, but she has legs and those legs work. The Not Them is enormous, taking up a good portion of the room, knocking over shelves as it moves. Its laughter brings back the edges of circular thinking, but she can’t afford to lose herself as Helen had earlier. She needs to focus, to bring it down, and to go back and grab Tim, or else he might just burn the institute down looking for her.

She feels like that would be a bad idea, although she’s not sure why. She’s never been one for premonitions.

“Nobody noticed, you know. Not even Timothy, sweet Tim. Oh how he kissed you,” it said. The laughter was cut off as its head was tossed back.

“Very nice try, but Tim and I didn’t actually get together until after we died,” she said as she took a few steps back, “I wasn’t very fond of how openly he flaunted his relationships with the police.”

The Not Them growled, and Sasha took off running towards it. She leapt, dug her fingers into its side, relished in its cries of pain. 

_ Good. _

This is no less than what it deserves, for what it did to her.

She twisted, her hands curled in at impossible angles, and the Not Them writhed. It brought its limbs up to grab her, but Sasha twisted the flesh away and she was moved onto its back. She took a deep breath.

“You know--”

The Not Them brought its hand down, violently crashing on the spot where it felt Sasha’s slicing grip. It ground it hand down, crushing the sensation.

And that was all it was.

“Please, let me finish.”

A sensation.

The Not Them twisted its neck back, enraged. It still felt Sasha’s hands clenched into its back, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Now, as I was saying, you know when you’re sitting at your desk, and suddenly you feel like you’ve got all sorts of bugs crawling all over you?”

The Not Them let out a cry as it felt that familiar crawling, stabbing sensation. It looked around, frantically, and saw her standing off to the left, sitting in a desk chair. It began to run towards her, only to stumble at her feet. Confused, it looked down, trying to decipher what had caused it to fall.

There was nothing there. Nothing binding its legs.

“Or when you’ve lost a limb but you  _ swear _ you can still feel it?”

But its legs were there  _ its limbs were still there _ \--

Sasha dropped its grotesque legs in front of it.

“Phantom sensations? Tricks played on you by your own mind?”

She knelt down, looking at it with almost pity. The Not Them attempted to grab her, and Sasha let it.

“Those always interested me, when I was human.”

It dug its own fingers into her belly. Dug and dug until it felt the soft give of flesh and muscle. Sasha let out a pained gasp and grabbed its wrists.

“Because it’s your mind, you know? Who knows what you know better than yourself? But we’re only human, we’re fallible, and our minds aren’t perfect. Our nerves can only do so much to interpret our chemical signals, which the Spiral doesn’t care for anyways. What’s a neurotransmitter to an entity that can defy the laws of physics? Oh, I’m over here, by the way.”

The Not Them froze. Sasha was gone, its fingers plunged deep into the heart of the library sofa. She sat on the seat opposite to it.

“I guess living in the tunnels has made you a bit out of practice hasn’t it, Not Sasha?”

“Stop playing AROUND!” it shouted.

“Well  _ I’m _ not the one killing a couch cushion. Maybe you’re the one who should stop playing around,” Sasha taunted, “You’ve got two perfectly good legs.”

And as it looked down, it saw that Sasha was right. Its legs were still there.

Or were they?

...Hesitantly, the Not Them stood up. It stood. Its legs were there. It looked back to where Sasha had dropped them earlier, only to see nothing but oil.

It lunged, teeth and claws bared.

“--Hel-Helen! Now!!” Sasha managed to stutter out. A door opened in front of her, and the Not Them was forced through. Before she shut the door, she could hear the crackle of fire and a startled “OH FUCK.”

She smiled, giggled even, before a claw reached out the door and startled her back to the situation. She slammed it closed before it grabbed her.

“A bit anticlimactic, don’t you think, dear?” Helen asked as she locked the supply closet. Sasha shook her head.

“Good to see you’ve calmed down some, Helen.”

“Oh nothing sobers you up quite like two Americans in your halls.”

“But they’re Eng--”

“I consider all members of the Hunt as American, Sasha dear. However, getting back to the topic,” she looked to the door, which remained unchanged, “Why not finish it off?”

“I want to kill it, really I do, but I think Tim would appreciate this little token as a small apology for leaving him there in that dingy old house,” she explained, unsuccessfully attempting to place her hair back up. It continued to seep through her fingers. She sighed.

“Besides, I don’t enjoy the killing.”

“Ah, Tim’s made you soft, has he?”

Sasha crossed her arms and drummed her fingers, thinking.

“No...No it’s not that, not that I am  _ against _ it, morally. I don’t suppose I can be, now. It’s just...it’s more like the hunt, where the thrill is in the chase rather than the killing?”

Helen laughed, “You can’t deceive if they’re dead.”

Sasha snapped her fingers, a bright smile on her face. 

“Exactly! I wasn’t kidding about my interest in phantom limbs,” she sat down on the torn couch, thumbing the edge of the tears, “It’s...not exactly something I can really talk to Tim about. I’m not nearly as bad as Micheal, I don’t think.”

“Think being the keyword.”

Sasha pursed her lips.

Helen watched her for a moment, then moved around to the back of the couch. She began to fix up Sasha’s hair, as gently as she could. It has stopped dripping, and was slowly solidifying into a cohesive form again. She stroked out what knots she could and gathered it into a ponytail.

“It’s hard for us avatars to connect to others, and for us Curlicues especially.”

“Helen, don’t tell me you’re humoring Jon.”

“And how would you know, hmm? You’ve been dead.”

“Because I heard him calling Micheal that before, you know, in that skeptical voice of his.”

“Ah, Micheal. Further proof that you need a woman to do an entity’s work.”

Helen swirled the ponytail into a bun, then tucked a loose strand behind Sasha’s ear. She moved to sit onto the arm of the couch.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Sasha asked, quietly.

“Who, your Desolation boyfriend? Oh I’m sure he’s fine. Tim is a tough boy.”

“I know, but I worry sometimes.”

She felt a sharp hand on her shoulder, and turned to look at Helen. She gave Sasha a warm smile, and it seemed almost genuine, as if Helen Richardson were smiling at her.

“I’m sure if he loves you as much as you love him, then he’s doing fine. The Lightless Flame can’t consume him when he can’t even destroy his own connections, And,” she tacked on, almost reluctantly, “You also can’t help but tell him the truth every now and then for the same reasons.”

Helen scrunched up her nose, although she did not lose her smile.

“No matter how much I wish you wouldn’t.”

At that, Sasha laughed. Helen was quite right, she knew. So long as she and Tim had each other, they would be fine.

Speaking of which…

“I should go get him,” Sasha said as she stood up, “Can’t have another London Fire.”

“Such words coming from the Institute Derry Girl.”

Sasha shrugged, “It’s complicated.”

Helen rolled her eyes. Nonetheless, she made a shooing motion with her hand. She raised an eyebrow when Sasha continued to stand there.

“Well? Off with you then.”

“Well I was just--Are you going to open a door? For me?”

Helen laughed.

“Oh dear Sasha, no. Of course not. I am going to make you walk as compensation for asking me to trap those two classless brutes in the corridors. After I’d redecorated, too!”

Sasha sighed, but decided against arguing. She had no time to waste on that.

She had to go see how Tim was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonny Sims said Tim/Sasha rights. Also I'm not that great at writing fight scenes and I love to just skip over them so sorry!! I wanna use this fic to practice bUT OH WELL!!
> 
> also it's 2:30 AM so forgive me for any mistakes l;dkasjf
> 
> \--
> 
> want more? hmu!!
> 
> salvadoerena.tumblr.com


	3. You Can't Touch Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Tim been doing?
> 
> \--  
> He trudged out of the apartment, blood boiling as he allowed himself to fester in his thoughts. Sasha was dead for far longer than he was, of course she’d choose the Spiral over him. Whatever. He wasn’t mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow i lived after working for two holidays and almost giving myself carbon monoxide poisoning from improper masks  
> so how have you been!

Tim wasn’t sure what just happened.

As he stood there, wide eyed, he took in the raging inferno (not his fault) that began to overtake their old apartment (did it count if they were squatters?). His gaze slowly followed the flames as they snaked their way out of the now-gaping hole at the front door (thanks to It-Which-He’s-Not-Going-to-Think-About).

He was still alone, and the supernatural door was gone.

So. Sasha wasn’t back.

“Fine, then. That’s fine,” he said, to no one but himself.

The flames grew hotter, and Tim sat on the couch petulantly.

“Let her go play with Helen. Send me that fucking clown’s pet. Whatever. See if I care.”

Distantly, he heard sirens blaring. It took them long enough. Still, better he wasn't here when they arrived.

He trudged out of the apartment, blood boiling as he allowed himself to fester in his thoughts. Sasha was dead for far longer than he was, of course she’d choose the Spiral over him. Whatever. He wasn’t mad. Eventually, Sasha will realize how wrong she was eventually and come crawling back.

He paused when he realized that the ground below him was sizzling. Confused, he looked down and realized the concrete below his shoes was scorched.

Oh.

He...hadn’t realized he  _ was _ that mad. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

He needed to cool down.

* * *

Thank God the pigeon people weren’t there.

Aside from the obvious of vaporizing the water immediately surrounding, Tim was just glad there wasn’t anyone around to witness his desperate measure.

“ _ Croo. Croo. _ ”

Well, aside from the pigeons.

Tim sighed, and allowed himself to sink deeper into the fountain. It had gone from a rolling boil to a gentle simmer. 

‘ _ Looks like even the Desolation can’t beat London mornings _ ,’ Tim thought.

He sighed and scooped some water into his hands, then dumped it over his head. He tried not to think about all the unsavories that resided in a public fountain. Originally, he was hoping for something a little more substantial, like a public pool or a cleaner stretch of beach. However, the longer he walked and the closer it became to dawn, the more he scorched the cement as his anxiety began to grow. So, when he found himself turning into Trafalgar Square, he was very eager to slip into  _ some _ body of water.

Even if it meant he was going to share it with the pigeons.

“It just had to be pigeons.”

While, legally, feeding the pigeons was banned, that didn’t stop the brave renegades from supplying these filthy birds with more bread.

“And now they’re spoiled rotten,” he grumbled.

Beside him, an especially brave bird decided that the possibility of a sweet morsel was greater than the instinctual fear that this man generated, and it cautiously walked closer. It froze when Tim turned his head toward it, and then hastily beat a retreat when he flicked water at it.

“Go on, then. Shoo. I don’t have any bread,” he gripped. The bird watched him from a safe distance away, and just as Tim began to lower his guard, it began to stalk back up to him. Tim sighed.

“Oh, don’t be so mean to the poor birds Tim!” he said, in a falsetto voice.

To which he replied: “I’ll be as mean as I need to, Sash, they shouldn’t even be used to people.”

“That’s not their fault.”

“Well then it’s not my fault that I’m trying to break them of the habit.”

“But I thought you li--” Tim’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat, then continued on with his falsetto, “Liked animals.”

He frowned once more, and looked down at his reflection. He was talking to himself, pretending like he was talking to Sasha. Fantastic. It had been exactly how many hours?

…

He got up, and made his way to the other, significantly cooler fountain.

It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. It was the Not Them, it was her murderer. Of course she would have wanted to get back at it. Helen probably knew that, too, which was probably the only reason why she had bothered to help Sasha. He was like that, too, when Orsinov was still around. Blinded by rage, vengeance, willing to shut out the others and burn himself up if it meant bringing her down.

“...Getting a taste of my own medicine sucks.”

The longer he thought about it, the guiltier he felt about letting his fire get the better of him earlier. He should have waited at the apartment. He shouldn’t have set it ablaze. He should have trusted Sasha and not been so quick to jump the gun.

The fountain itself remained pleasantly cool, even if the water surrounding him boiled. Would Sasha still at the Institute? Hmm...not likely, if the Not Them had been tossed into the apartment. She probably followed.

Tim groaned. He felt like a right idiot. He should go back there and wait for her, apologize for burning the apartment down. Apologize for slipping.

He was just about to step out of the water, when a warm hand clapped his shoulder.

“Oh how lovely to see you here, Timothy,” a creaky voice greeted him. Tim froze.

It continued, “What, are you not happy to see  _ me _ ?”

He tried his best to sound nonchalant, “Not really. You’re scaring the pigeons.”

Jude laughed her wheezing, hoarse laughter, and let go of him. Tim set his jaw. He had only encountered her a handful of times since his passing, but he found her deeply unpleasant nonetheless.

“Well good. Little rats need to learn to stay away,” she said as she took a seat on the fountain wall, “They’re flying assholes.”

“Not as much as you,” he muttered under his breath. He felt her dig her nails into his shoulder, and what onced passed for solid flesh gave way to soft wax. She sank her fingers in.

“I wouldn’t go around antagonizing stronger avatars, Timothy,” she hissed, “It won’t end well for you.”

“Look just cut to the chase: What do you want?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” she dug her fingers deeper, “Wanted to say hello to a fellow Brother of the Flame.”

“I’m not your brother.”

“Hmm, I guess you still aren’t yet,” she squeezed even harder and relished in Tim’s pinched expression, “You will be though, no one can resist the Lightless Flame for long.”

Finally, she let go once more, and Tim took this opportunity to move out of her reach. He knew better than to walk away before Jude Perry was done with him, but at least he could stave off any immediate damage.

Jude delighted in Tim’s apprehension, as well as his slightly melted shoulder. “I suppose I also had another reason for stopping by,” she croaked out. Carefully, Tim asked why.

“I wanted to know how my dear old friend, the Archivist, was doing.”

Tim’s entire body seized, and the entire fountain was brought back to a simmer. Jude’s laughter didn’t help his reignited anger.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Go check on him yourself.”

“Trouble in paradise I take it?”

“Leave.”

“Well don’t worry, I’m sure Jon still plays favorites.”

“ _ I said leave! _ ”

Jude raised her hands up defensively as Tim quickly rose up from the water. Her smile, however, remained unperturbed.

“I just wanted to know how his hand healed up,” she stated calmly, “And if he’s still having fun with his Beholding.”

His jaw was clenched so hard that he barely managed to grit out a “Badly. Yes.”

That, at least, seemed to satisfy the woman, and she stood up.

“Good to hear, good to hear. Next time, I’ll be sure to take his entire hand, the--”

“ _ Don’t. Touch him _ .”

Jude paused. She cast a sidelong glance at Tim, and saw a dark expression had settled onto his face, although she couldn’t make out exactly what it was.

Interesting.

“...Cane sends him her regards, by the way. Says Scotland’s lovely this time of year.”

“I think you’d better leave.”

She hummed in agreement and finally continued on her morning walk. Tim watched her go, hate bubbling in his gut. Beside him, a pigeon cooed.

...He should find Sasha. Apologize. Forget this entire encounter happened.

The clock tower chimed its familiar tune, and rang out seven times.

Good. At least the flower shop will be open soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally i'm living every time one of u guys is like "op said timsasha rights" like thank u
> 
> Also in case anyone was wondering how I always imagined Tim being in water looked like here’s a perfect example:  
> https://twitter.com/satisfyingdaily/status/1261376441620537344?s=21  
> Again!! One day I’ll figure out how to use hyperlinks!!
> 
> \--
> 
> want more? hmu!!
> 
> salvadoerena.tumblr.com


	4. I Hate to Say I Told You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothy Stoker and his Rotten Horrible No Good Bad Day.
> 
> \--
> 
> The Hunt? It made sense, at least. But of all powers...To never be satisfied? To chase a quarry forever into eternity and never feel the satisfaction of destroying it? He couldn’t think of a worse power to belong to--
> 
> He shook his head. No. No, Timothy Stoker did not belong to anything. He chose this. It didn’t choose him. He looked down at his flowers.
> 
> “Well shit, sorry Sash.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i feel like, all things considered, i have a supremely valid excuse of: wild gesticulations at all of twenty twenty parentheses also my one through nine keyboard buttons aren't working anymore and neither are their special characters close parentheses
> 
> you can pry parallelism as a literary device from my cold dead hands

He ended up leaving the shop with red camellias. 

“You are my only flame” the florist had said.

Tim thought it was fitting, at least. And admittedly a little funny. Sasha would know what it meant. Probably. They had that one case about the flowers, that fleshy one.

He made his way to the institute.

There was something...it was...the ominous feeling from earlier returned with greater and greater intensity the closer he got. Eyes boring into the back of his neck. He remembered what it was like, working in the basement of that damned building. He used to think it was the security cameras, could you believe that? That  _ Elias _ had cared enough about the safety of his documents that he had security cameras everywhere. If only it were so mundane.

He made his way up the steps, each foot fall heavier than the last.

Something…

Something wasn’t right. The eyes—the  _ Eye _ was crawling up his spine again. It was  _ interested _ in him. He had to leave, now.

But Sasha—

The doors to the Institute burst open, and Tim had to scramble out of the way before he was trampled. 

Literally. 

Quite literally trampled. 

Whatever the  _ fuck _ came out of that door was...it was...Oh God. It was looking at him. It was looking at him. It was  _ slowly stalking up to him _ . 

He was slowly backing up. 

You know, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt his heart leap into his throat, at least before his death, but it certainly did when his back hit the railing. The creature—the  _ Hunter _ , he corrected himself—stopped in front of him, looming. It was taller than him, much taller, broader, too many teeth and too many eyes and too much saliva dripping down from its gaping maw onto Timothy’s face and he gulped.

It dipped its head lower, tongues coming out to taste, but Tim supposed its instincts were strong because they stopped before making contact with his bubbling flesh. The scent of burning plastic and wood hit him at the same time as that realization, and he looked down to see that he had melted through the bouquet and was causing the banisters to smoke.

“You…”

Its voice was grotesque.

“Aren't...my...prey…”

But something about it…

“DAISY!!”

Tim met that shout with one of his own, a startled “Aah!” accompanied by his back burning clean through the railing, causing him to fall backwards into the neatly manicured bushes. And burn them. Of course.

The Hunter, however, let out a growl and took off at a dead sprint down the streets. There were screams coming from all the London folk who had the misfortune of being out, and Tim knew this was going to be on the news. 

Well, at least whatever that was was  _ gone _ now—

Basira sprinted out of the institute, skipping the steps in favor of simply leaping over the railing and continuing on her chase. Tim blinked, owlishly, and suddenly things fell into place.

“No way…”

Something weighty settled in him, then. Weighty and sad. He...Well admittedly he had never known Daisy  _ that _ well, but…

The Hunt? It made sense, at least. But of all powers...To never be satisfied? To chase a quarry forever into eternity and never feel the satisfaction of destroying it? He couldn’t think of a worse power to belong to—

He shook his head. No. No, Timothy Stoker did not belong to  _ anything _ . He chose this. It didn’t choose him. He looked down at his flowers.

“Well shit, sorry Sash.”

With a sigh, he crawled back onto the porch. That explains the ominous watching, at least. That thing probably wanted to enjoy Tim getting right and proper scared again. But God, first the Not Them, now Daisy. Today really isn’t his day, is it? At the very least he could apologize to Sasha. Get all these stupid feelings out, burn through some more artefacts, burn down this entire bloody Institute, even. That sounded like a nice date. He stepped through the door.

In the center of the lobby, a thick fog slowly swirled, and Tim frowned. Looks like Sasha was right...poor Martin. He deserved better, he deserved  _ normalcy _ . He deserved—

The fog swirled violently, before dissipating, leaving two figures clutching each other in the center of the lobby. Tim heard a familiar sniff, and watched with abject horror and Martin lifted his head out of Jon’s shoulder and met his eyes.

“J-Jon—!”

“Martin, Martin what is—” Jon cupped Martin’s face searching for...Tim didn’t know. What he  _ did _ know was that Jon had followed Martin’s gaze and was now looking directly at  _ him _ .

Tim stepped back outside.

Cool. He walked down the steps. Sasha wasn’t there time to head back to his flat—

“Tim!” Footsteps started rushing after him.

—Maybe if the firefighters got there quickly enough that it was still habitable—

“Ti—Martin come on—” Footsteps paused.

—he’ll make a note to knock on any yellow doors and ask Helen if she could bring Sasha over—

“Martin—Martin are you—are you alright?!” Footsteps rushed back inside.

That made Tim glance back.

Jon had ceased his chase, Timothy seemingly forgotten in wake of Martin doubling over and...blurring? It was hard to tell. It was almost like...like when there’s an eyelash in your vision, or your eyes suddenly went haywire and decided to stop focusing, but only when it came to Martin. Tim tried to blink and rub his eyes, but nothing sharpened.

Martin looked up at Tim (at least Tim thought he did), and whispered, “You’re alive…”

Tim opened his mouth despite himself, then shut it once again.

“You’re—You’re alive,” what could have been relief melted into betrayal, “You didn’t come back…”

“Martin...Martin he’s—”

“ _ Don’t _ .”

Both Jon and Martin’s heads shot up and they looked directly at him. Martin was sharper now, betrayal coalescing into shock. Tim doesn’t blame him. That word was spat out with more venom than he’d intended.

“I-I—”

“ _ Don’t _ . Tell him. Don’t say it don’t—don’t even  _ speak! _ You have—You’ve no right—” the words were struggling to claw their way out from Tim’s throat. He wanted to laugh. The one time he’s ever been  _ un _ able to vomit his words into the hungry gaze of that  _ monster _ is when he was telling him off.

“I...I don’t have to.”

The smell of burning flesh hit Tim like a lightning bolt. He looked down and saw that he was, once again, at a roiling boil. Waxen flesh churned and popped and God it  _ reeked _ of burning rubber and singed hair. Like a bad car wreck. Like—

“Like an explosion,” Jon finished.

There was a crackling, then. It popped in his ears, growing louder and angrier like a bad episode of tinnitus until it escalated into a roaring that, similarly, made his head swim. He had trouble stringing thoughts together. How-how dare he—How DARE he—!!

“Tim—“

How DARE he say that how dare he MENTION that  _ he  _ of all people had NO right  _ HE _ did not GET to just  _ LOOK INTO HIS HEAD— _ !

“T-Tim calm down!”

“TAKE YOUR FUCKING EYES OFF OF ME!”

He lunged at the Archivist, body boiling over with utter contempt and loathing and...discomfort. And fear. And skin-crawling, nerve wracking _knowledge_ that he could see, that It could  _ see _ , that everyone in this goddamned institution knew  _ exactly _ what he was thinking, what he was going to do.

He would burn it. He would raze it all to the ground. 

He would feed his fear, as much as it wanted, as much as it _needed_ in order to get this sensation out of his body.

And he would start with Jonathan Sims’  _ fucking _ eyes.

Wax met flesh, and Tim found himself thinking: was there ever a sweeter sound than a sizzle? Anything more pleasant than the pained scream of earth’s most odious person—no, not person, but a  _ thing _ ? Any sensation that felt more  _ right _ than to indulge, just for once, in those dark, dark instincts he’d buried away so carefully, so,  _ so _ carefully—

“T-Tim, Tim stop—”

Timothy froze.

The flames receded from his vision, and he froze. There was Martin, again  _ just _ out of focus, and Jonathan...arms up, cowering. Behind Sasha.

Tim was grabbing Sasha.

Tim had his hands on  _ Sasha’s face _ —

“Tim I do-don’t—” she paused, breathing labored, “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Yet her hands were already cutting into his arms.

He always thought that snuffing out a flame would be more violent, but he guesses he was wrong. It made sense, he thought, as his hands slowly slid off of Sasha’s face and down to his sides. There’s always a little pitter of flame when you put the cover back on a candle. Then it slowly shrinks into nothing. Nothing but a small wisp of smoke.

“...Let’s go home Tim.”

Sasha placed her hand on his back, gently enough so as not to cut him, and began to guide him out of the Institute.

Behind him, he heard Jon checking on Martin again. There was a little pitter of flame. He felt Sasha’s hands, sharp and real, card through his hair.

He shrank into himself.

They left the institute.

She picked up whatever flowers survived on their way out.

“Scotland’s lovely this time of year…Lots of rain," Sasha picked through the camellia petals, plucking out the singed ones, "Plenty of ways to cool down.”

Tim stared directly in front of him. Sasha sighed.

“...We’ll talk about this later.”

Behind them, the doors of the Magnus Archives were left nothing but a wisp of smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, shout out to State_of_Dreaming: your comment literally spurned me on to churn out another thousand words and finish this chapter today. I don't know why I can't respond to it? but like, know that this is a direct result of it.
> 
> also know that there was a sale on dog treats at work today and it was buy three get two free and now my dogs have a million treats.
> 
> \--  
> want more? hmu:
> 
> salvadoerena.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully!! This can get pretty long. I'm aiming for at least 20k words, and a (mostly) happy ending. Definite spoilers up to mag160. Depending on if I finish this by the time season 5 comes out I'll update that.
> 
> I'm not quite sure how often I'll be updating this, but I'm tentatively saying once a month. Maybe twice a month. Started a new job so!! We'll see!!!
> 
> \--
> 
> want more? hmu!!
> 
> salvadoerena.tumblr.com


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